The Klone and I: A High-Tech Love Story

I sat for a long quiet moment, wondering what to do, and what I was going to tell Sam. I was already signed up at Charlotte's school, and she was in her room, dressing for the dance. Backing out on her at the last minute would be a sin she would never forgive me for, but making Sam stay home with a sitter on Halloween would break his heart.

I glanced across the room at Peter, with despair in my eyes.

“I take it Roger can't make it?” He looked at me sympathetically as I nodded, silently running through the options in my mind. I was wondering if a sitter could take Sam to his party, but it was too late to find one, and I knew Sam better than that. He would opt not to go, and I knew how important Halloween was to him. I needed to be two people, and unlike Peter, there was no way out for me. I didn't have a Klone.

“They think Helena has appendicitis,” I explained with a morbid look. “Christ, couldn't she have done that some other time?”

Peter walked across the room to me with a gentle smile and a warm look in his eyes. “I'll take him, if he'll have me. I don't have anything else to do tonight.” He had been planning to have dinner with friends, while I went to Charlotte's dance. And the truth was, I didn't know if Sam would have him. He had expected to go with his father, and although he liked Peter, going out with the man in my life on Halloween wasn't quite the same. “Why don't I ask him?” Peter said matter-of-factly. “If it's okay with him, I'll cancel my other plans.” I knew he was fond of the people he was meeting and they were only in town from London for a couple of days, and this was the only free night they'd had. But there was no question in my mind, I needed his help.

“Let me ask him first,” I said gratefully, and stopped to kiss him. “Thank you for doing it … I know it'll mean the world to Sam.”

But when Sam heard what had happened, he was too disappointed to be reasonable. He didn't care what Peter had offered, he was furious with Roger, and so disappointed he wadded his Batman costume up in a ball, and threw it on the floor.

“I'm not going,” he said, throwing himself on his bed, with tears of defeat and sorrow running down his face. “Dad always goes out with me on Halloween … it won't be the same.”

I know, sweetheart … but it's not his fault if Helena is sick. And he can't just go out and leave her. What if she has to go to the hospital and he's not there?”

The voice from the depths of his pillow was muffled, but audible nonetheless. “Tell her to call 911.”

“Why can't Peter take you?”

“He's not my father. Why can't you?” Sam said, rolling on his back to look at me mournfully, the tears still fresh on his face.

“I have to go to Charlotte's dance.” And as I said the words, I saw the door open, and Peter take a single cautious step into Sam's room. He stood there hesitantly for a moment and looked straight at Sam, man to man, and asked a respectful question.

“May I come in?” Sam nodded, but didn't answer as Peter made his way slowly to Sam's bed, and sat down on the end of it, as I quietly left the room, praying that Peter would know the right things to say.

I'm not entirely sure what happened after that, except that Sam told me many days later that Peter's father had died when he was ten, and his mother had had to work very hard to support him and his younger brother. There had never been anyone to go places with him. But he had been very close to the father of his best friend. He had gone fishing with them, and camping, and skiing once. And for the father-son camping trip, his best friend's father had taken both of them. It hadn't been the same for Peter either, but to this day, he had told Sam, as my son relayed to me later on, he and his best friend's father were still friends. He went to Vermont, where he lived now, every year to see him, and it means more to him than ever, because the man's son, Peter's friend, had been killed in Vietnam.

Sam had obviously been impressed by the story, because half an hour later, he appeared in my room with Peter standing beside him, his Batman costume on, and a look of resignation on his face.

“Peter said he'd go as Robin,” Sam announced, “if you've got anything for him to wear.” No problem, one Robin costume coming right up, twenty minutes before I had to leave for the dance. Of such minor challenges motherhood is made. We made holes for him to see through in an old sleepmask I'd taken from an airplane. I found an old gray sweatshirt, and a black wool cape, and he actually looked pretty credible, even in his gray flannels. I somehow couldn't see him leaving the building in gray tights, even if I had had some, which thank God, I did not. And for a moment, as I looked at him before they left arm in arm, Peter reminded me more of the Klone than of himself. Paul would have had the tights, of course, and a pair of Versace boots to match, but Peter's gray slacks and loafers looked just fine. I kissed them both before they left, thanked Peter, and rushed back to my room, to comb my hair and change my dress for Charlotte's dance.

“You're late, Mom!” She glowered at me from the doorway five minutes later, as I simultaneously slipped on my shoes and zipped up my dress.

“No, I'm not,” I said breathlessly, grabbing my handbag, and smiling at her. There was no doubt whatsoever in my mind, Peter had saved the day.

“What have you been doing?” It would have taken too long to explain. She seemed to assume I'd been eating bonbons and watching my favorite show on TV.

“Nothing,” I said modestly, just salvaging Sam's Halloween for him and dressing Peter as Robin. No big deal. I did things like that every day.

“Come on, we can't be late,” she said, handing me my coat and bag as we rushed out the door.

As it turned out, we weren't. We caught a cab immediately, and I reported for duty as a chaperone at the scheduled time. Charlotte had a great time at the dance, and when we got home, Peter and Sam were sitting on the couch, chatting like old friends. They had already made their way through several Hershey bars, four packs of Rolos, and there were silver papers from Hershey's Kisses and orange KitKat wrappers spread all over the couch. But in addition to the stomachache they were soon to share, it was obvious that a new bond had formed, and once again, Peter had won my heart.

“How was it?” I asked as Charlotte disappeared down the hall, having thanked me adequately for taking her to the dance.

“It was great! Peter and I are going to the Princeton-Harvard game,” Sam announced proudly. “And he said he'd take me on the school ski trip, if Dad can't go.” Peter looked over his head into my eyes, and I saw something there I had never seen before, something tender and open and very warm. Whatever reservations Peter may have had about making a commitment to me, Sam had made serious inroads into his heart that night. It was a look that, however developed the technology, could never have been cloned.

And when I went to kiss Sam in bed that night, he lay smiling up at me from his pillow. “He's a great guy,” he said about Peter, and all I could do was nod, and fight back the lump in my throat.

“I love you, Sam,” I whispered softly.

“I love you, too, Mom,” he said with a sleepy yawn. “Thanks for a terrific Halloween.”

Peter and I talked for a long time that night, about his childhood, and the death of his father, and then his mother when he was fourteen. In a way, he was an odd and lonely man, more so than I had ever realized, and it explained why he was so cautious about getting too attached to anyone. I think he was afraid that if he came to love us too much, something terrible might happen and he might lose us. But whatever fences he had built around himself over the years, it was obvious that Sam had broken right through them that night, dressed as Batman on Halloween.

“I think I had more fun than he did tonight. He's a great kid.” Peter smiled lovingly at me, and pulled me closer to him on the couch.

“He said pretty much the same thing about you before he went to sleep, and I agree with him. Thanks for saving the day for us. Better than that. Thanks for saving my life.”

“Anytime,” he swept a quick bow from where he sat on the couch, “Robin at your service.” He kissed me then, and his kisses tasted of Hershey bars and KitKats. I like that in a man. There was a lot I liked about Peter that night, and I fell in love with him all over again.

I met Peter's son on Thanksgiving, who was appropriately suspicious of me, and as rude as he dared to be, which was comforting. It reminded me of Charlotte with him in the beginning. She had long since come to the conclusion that Peter was boring, but harmless. And Sam truly liked him, especially after Halloween.

It was in early December that Peter told me he was going back to California for two weeks again. He hadn't been there in nearly three months. And as he said it, I was almost afraid to ask the obvious question. He didn't volunteer anything, and I didn't dare ask. I took him to the airport in the Jaguar, which had been repainted, again, by then. He had had it restored to silver. Its brief moment of canary yellow never saw the light of day. He never let it leave the shop that way, which somehow seemed a pity to me. Paul had thought it a terrific color, and had chosen it carefully, thinking Peter would like it. But as in everything else, nothing but their looks were the same.

Peter kissed me lovingly when I left him at the airport, and told me not to be lonely, and keep busy while he was gone. There were a slew of early Christmas parties we were invited to, and he urged me to go to all of them. I told him I wasn't sure I wanted to and mulled it over, as I drove back into the city. I didn't want to go to the parties without him. I was almost sorry he hadn't sent me the Klone this time, or promised to. I missed the Klone. It would have been a good time to have him around. But the last visit obviously had bothered Peter. And this time as he left, Peter said nothing about the Klone coming to see me, and I didn't ask. I think Peter was sorry about ever sending me the Klone in the first place. He had never mentioned him again, and I'd gotten the impression that he felt the first visit had gotten out of hand.

I was cooking dinner for the kids that night, when the doorman buzzed and said something had arrived, so when the doorbell rang, I sent Sam to answer to see what it was, and he returned to the kitchen with a broad smile.

“What is it?” I had told him not to open the door until he looked through the peephole.

“It's not what, it's who,” he said with a knowing look, and then was quick to explain. “It's Peter, he's back, and he looks like he's in a good mood again. I guess he didn't go to California after all.” Just listening to what Sam said, I wondered. I put the spatula down that I'd been brandishing, and ran to the door, still in my apron. I was wearing jeans and an old sweater. I opened the door, and then I saw him standing there, with stacks of purple alligator suitcases all around him. It was Paul, and he was beaming at me. He had clearly conned the doorman into letting him come up unannounced. He always tipped them well.

He was wearing chartreuse satin disco pants, and a mink jacket, and peeking through it I could see no shirt at all, only his bare chest, and his diamond peace sign shimmering at me.

“Merry Christmas!” were the first words he said to me, and then he kissed me with unbridled passion.

“Wow!” I whispered, looking him over carefully. He hadn't changed a bit in three months. It could have been Peter, but I knew it was Paul, back from wherever he had been to have his wires polished up, and his chips replaced. God only knew what they did now. But I was thrilled to see him. “How have you been?” I suddenly realized how much I had missed him. More than I would ever have admitted to Peter, or even to myself.

“I've been bored as hell, thanks a lot. I spent three months with my head off. I didn't even know he was going away again. They just told me this morning. I came as soon as they called.”

“I think he decided on short notice,” I whispered. And I was happier to see him than I knew I should be. The last three months with Peter had been wonderful … but Paul brought with him something magical, and very different. A kind of madness blessed by outrageous spirits and kissed by elves. He was wearing yellow alligator cowboy boots, and when he took the mink jacket off, I could see he had on a tiny black see-through undershirt, covered in rhinestones. He looked very festive, and happy to see me.

He hugged both of the kids, and Charlotte rolled her eyes at him, and said, “Now what? Are you on one of your crazy kicks again, Peter?” But she grinned at him. She liked it when he got a little crazy. And Sam giggled at the outfit, as Paul poured himself half a glass of bourbon. This time he knew where I kept it, and took it out of the cupboard with a grin, and a wink at the kids.

“Are you staying with us again?” Sam inquired, looking amused. The last time “Peter” had looked like that, he had stayed in our guest room for two weeks. He thought the yellow cowboy boots were a little silly. But Peter was his buddy, and had been for months, in khaki pants, or chartreuse satin. They were growing accustomed to what they thought were his mood swings and his fluctuating taste in clothing. And as though to confirm that to me, Charlotte whispered to me when he walked out of the kitchen with Sam.

“Mom, he needs Prozac. One minute he's all quiet and serious and wants to play Scrabble with Sam, and the next minute he walks in, acting like Mick Jagger, and dressed like Prince.”

“I know, darling, he's under a lot of pressure at work. People express it differently. I think dressing like that relieves some of the stress for him.”

“I'm not sure which way I like him better. I've kind of gotten used to him looking normal. This is a little embarrassing. Last time I thought it was cool, now I think it looks silly.” She was growing up, and I smiled at her.

“He'll get over it again in a couple of weeks, Char. I promise.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged and took the salad out to the table. Paul was already sitting there with Sam, and regaled all of us with outrageous stories of meetings he had disrupted with whoopee cushions and live frogs over the years. It was a side of him that Sam particularly loved, and I found myself staring at him. Like Charlotte, I had gotten used to Peter, and now seeing Paul again was a little confusing. I wasn't sure I was up to another two weeks of intense ecstasy and the quadruple flip. In my heart of hearts, I had come to love Peter's quieter ways better. And in his own way, he was twice as sexy as Paul. Paul took a lot of energy, and he consumed enough bourbon for the entire state of Nebraska. I didn't even have champagne in the house for him. He asked for dessert, but settled for half a bottle of Yquem that was still left over from the last time.

He taught Sam how to play poker that night, and played liar's dice with Charlotte after that, and after they had both beaten him, they went to bed, still amused at how he was behaving. He had told them that he decided not to go to California. He claimed he was staying with us because he had lent his apartment to friends from London. Paul was very considerate about explaining things to the kids, so they wouldn't know the truth about him, or that Peter was gone.

But once the kids were in bed, I was honest with him, and told him what I was thinking.

“Paul, I'm not sure you should stay here. Things have gotten serious with Peter in the last few months. I don't think he'd like it.” More importantly, I didn't think I would. This was just too confusing for me.

“This was his idea, Steph. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't sent me. I got the call from his office.” That surprised me. He hadn't seemed all that pleased about what happened when he sent the Klone in September. “He expects us to be together while he's away.”

“Why? I can manage fine on my own for two weeks.” It made me seem like a nymphomaniac or something, as though I had to have sex fourteen times a day and hang off the chandelier while doing it, just because Peter was in California. And it wasn't that simple for me. Besides, I had plenty to do with the kids, getting ready for the holidays, I had started looking for a job, and I had lots of parties to go to. I tried to explain that to Paul, as we sat in the living room and he opened another bottle of bourbon.

“He probably doesn't want you going out alone at this time of year, Steph. He must have had a reason for calling me, and having me come to see you.”

“Maybe I should ask him,” I said, wondering how best to handle an awkward situation like this one.

“I wouldn't do that. I think he likes knowing I'm here, but I'm not sure he wants to hear about it.” I had figured that much out the last time. “Kind of like an imaginary friend, if you know what I mean.” But I knew better.

“Paul, there is nothing imaginary about you. My back hurt for two months after you left.” The quadruple wasn't as simple as it looked, no matter how skilled he was at it. Peter was right. It was dangerous. And he'd sent me to his chiropractor, which had finally helped me. He hadn't asked how I'd hurt my back, but I was sure he knew without asking.

“Tell me about it. They had to replace all the wires in my neck after last time,” Paul said, and then he smiled at me so winningly I felt something in me start to melt, in spite of my good intentions, and my resistance to him. “But it was worth it. Come on, Steph … for old times’ sake … just two little weeks. It's Christmas. If I go back now, I'll feel like a failure.”

“It might be the best thing for both of us. What's the point of this? I'm in love with him, and you know it. I don't want to spoil it.”

“You can't. I'm his Klone, for heaven's sake. I'm him, and he's me.”

“Oh God, not that again,” I said, feeling overwhelmed by his persona. “I can't go through this again.”

“Didn't you feel closer to him last time after I left?” he said, looking hurt that I doubted his good intentions.

“How did you know that?” The truth was, I had. But he had no way of knowing. Or did he?

“Steph, it's meant to. I think that's why he sent me. Maybe I show you a side of him he doesn't know how to show you himself.” I glanced at the chartreuse pants and the rhinestone-encrusted T-shirt as he said it, but I found his theory a little hard to swallow. There was so much to Peter as it was, if he had a side like this, I wasn't sure he needed to show it to me. This was just a crazy experiment someone had dreamed up, or Peter had, and it had gotten out of hand right from the beginning. It was an insane fantasy to live out, and I was convinced I didn't need to. It was his fantasy not mine, and I was no longer sure it was even Peter's. “Look, let me spend the night,” he persisted in spite of all my rationalizations. “No double flip, no triple, no quadruple. We'll just lie in bed and talk, like good friends, old times. And I'll leave in the morning, I promise.”

“Where will you go?”

“Back to the shop. To take my head off.” Poor thing. It was a rotten way to spend Christmas. We deserved a little fun at least before he went back in the shop again. After all, he had been there since September, waiting for Peter to leave for California.

“All right. But just tonight. And no funny stuff. You can wear a pair of his pajamas.”

“Do I have to? Christ, they're so ugly. They're probably beige or something.” He winced at the prospect, as though their oatmeal blandness would cause him genuine pain. He would have felt differently if they'd been chartreuse satin.

“They're navy, with red trim. You'll love them.”

“I doubt it. But for you, I'll wear them.” I was only sorry I had finally disposed of my very last flannel nightgown. They were gone forever. I had already decided to sleep in my bathrobe, just to be safe. I didn't want to provoke Paul into anything we'd both regret later.

We went to bed eventually, and used the bathroom separately. He came out wearing the navy blue pajamas, looking as though he might get sick from wearing them, and I came out wearing my most chaste nightgown, and the terry-cloth bathrobe he had bought me at ‘21.’ It was a far cry from the last time I'd seen him. And this time, there were no candles. Peter was right, I had decided, they were a fire hazard.

“Not even one little one?” Paul looked crushed when I told him. He loved candlelight, and so did I now.

“No. I'm turning the light off,” I warned him, and got into bed next to him, but as soon as he put an arm around me, he felt just like Peter. I had to keep reminding myself he wasn't, but it was hard to remember in the dark.

“Why are you so uptight tonight?” he asked unhappily, as I lay tensely next to him. “He must be making you frigid or something. No wonder he had them send me.”

“You are not here on a mission,” I reminded him. “You're here to visit, as an old friend, and a figment of his occasionally insane imagination.” For the past three months, Peter had seemed so normal, that it was hard to remind myself now that the Klone had originally been his idea and creation.

“What about your imagination, Steph? Have you lost it entirely, or has he killed it?”

“No, he has made me very happy.”

“I don't believe you,” he said firmly. And I frowned in the darkness. I didn't like the way the conversation was going. I hadn't invited him to stay so I could defend myself. I had let him stay because I felt sorry for him. “If you were so happy, you'd still be as much fun as you used to be. Now you're more uptight than he is.”

“I can't sleep with both of you. It makes me crazy.”

“I am not ‘both of us.’ We are one person.”

“Then you're both nuts.”

“Possibly. But we also both love you.” He said it matter-of-factly.

“I love you too. I just don't want to confuse myself again. Last time, when I was with you, I thought I loved you and not him. Then when he came back, I knew I loved him, and not you. And by then, you had your head off anyway, so the whole thing was insane.” How could I ever discuss this with him? But he seemed to want to. And he looked irritated when he answered.

“You know where your head is, don't you?”

“Don't be insulting.”

“Why don't you just shut up for a minute,” he said, and before I could stop him, he kissed me. And in spite of all my stern resolve, it started all over again. I could suddenly feel everything I'd felt for him the last time, in spite of the promises I'd made myself not to.

“No!” I said, and then kissed him again, hating myself more than him. It was ridiculous. As soon as he touched me, I had absolutely no resistance, no morals.

“That's better,” he said, and kissed me again, and I wanted to hit him. But I didn't. I just went on kissing him, and after a while I didn't want to stop. I just wanted to lie there, kissing him forever. Until he touched me. And suddenly the kisses weren't enough, and I wanted all of him, and the worst part was that the whole time I kept missing Peter, and at the same time feeling Paul was part of him. It was impossible to sort out who was who and what was what, and whom I was doing what with, and why. And by the time it was all over, I was as crazy as they were, and I no longer cared which of them was in bed with me. I was happy and peaceful, and even the double flip seemed funny to me when we finally did it.

“You're terrific,” he said, as I lay thinking afterward, about what a strange gift this was, and how much they both meant to me, although I still preferred Peter to Paul, and knew I always would. But I also loved Paul's whimsy.

“I think you're bad for me,” I lied to him, wanting him to feel guilty, because I didn't. After all, this was all Peter's fault anyway. He had invented him, and sent him to me. If he hadn't wanted this to happen, he shouldn't have given him to me. But what if it was a test of some kind, of my chastity and fidelity? In that case, I had a serious problem, because as long as it was Peter's Klone I was sleeping with, and not some stranger, I didn't really care. For all intents and purposes, Paul appeared to be the same man, the same face, the same body, the same spirit. Only the wardrobe was different, and then there was the triple flip, which was even more different, and quite terrific.

“I am not bad for you,” Paul objected. “Don't make this into something it isn't, and doesn't have to be.” It sounded like gibberish to me.

“Then what is this? You explain it to me. Because I can't,” I said, feeling confused by what he was saying, and I was feeling.

“It's a fantasy. An extension of him. Besides, I give great jewelry. Which reminds me.” With that, he turned the light on, dug into the pocket of Peter's pajamas lying on the floor, and pulled out an enormous diamond bracelet and handed it to me.

“Oh my God, what is that?”

“What does it look like? It's not a tennis racket, or a pet snake. I stopped off at Tiffany on my way over.”

“Oh Paul … you really are crazy … but I love it.” I grinned from ear to ear as he put it on me. “Now I really should feel guilty. You're going to think you can just buy me.”

“I can't afford you. Only he can. Why don't you just marry him, Steph, and get it over with, instead of all this back and forth between your apartments, and hiding from the kids. It's a stupid waste of time. Besides, you love each other.”

“That's beside the point.”

“No, it's not. That is the point,” he said wisely.

“I'm not sure what the point is. I was married, and after thirteen years, Roger said he had never loved me. I can't go through that again.”

“He's a jerk, and you know it. Peter isn't.”

“No, but in any case, he hasn't asked me. And what would happen to us, if he did? That would mean curtains for us. No more jewelry.”

“Don't be so greedy. Besides, it would be up to him. He might still want me to be with you when he goes to California.”

“I doubt it,” I said honestly, wondering just how crazy I was, having this conversation with a Klone, not even a real person. But he was smart, almost as smart as Peter in some ways, and in my own way I loved him, though not as much as I loved Peter. At times, Paul was adorable, at other times, he just seemed like a poor imitation of Peter.

“He'd probably take you to California with him,” Paul said thoughtfully. “He would if he's smart, anyway. And if not, it's the quadruple flip for us forever. Worse things could happen to you. I think you really love him. Sometimes I think it's the only reason why you love me.” It was the truth, of course, but I hated to hurt his feelings. In some ways, Paul was so easily wounded. It was hard to remember he had wires instead of a heart.

“Anyway, I'm not going to marry him. So you're just going to have to keep buying me jewelry, and charging it to him forever. Get used to it.”

“The trouble is, I have,” he said gently, as we lay side by side, with his arm around me in the dark. I was glad he had come back by then, and I was beginning to realize how much I had missed him. He said things to me that Peter never would have. “I'd really miss you,” he said sadly, “if he didn't let me come back again.”

“Don't worry about it … let's get some sleep,” I said, yawning, and when he turned over on his side, I cuddled up next to him. There was something very vulnerable about him this time, which really touched me deeply. And five minutes later, he was sleeping soundly, as I lay next to him, thinking about the things he had said, and the things I was feeling. It was all so damnably confusing. It was like sleeping with two men, all rolled into one, and I was never quite sure where one man ended and the other began. It was the price I paid for sleeping with a Klone, a man made up of computer chips and wires. But there was more to Paul than met the eyes. There was always the quadruple flip to think about, and the jewelry. I smiled to myself as I fell asleep cuddled up next to him, happy that Peter had decided to send him.

Chapter Eight

For the next few days, I indulged myself totally. We did all the same things we had done before. We stayed in bed all day while the kids were at school. I postponed looking for a job till January. We did the triple flip all night, and he had a great time with the children on the weekend. We even took them skating at Rockefeller Center, and he wore a one-piece sky-blue spandex jumpsuit with rhinestones on the collar. It was fairly conservative for him, but he was a terrific skater, and everyone at the rink loved him.

He finally went to the office later one afternoon, to take care of some things for Peter. Peter had called several times from the West Coast, and seemed to be having a lot of business problems. This time I didn't say a word about Paul, or the fact that he was with me again. I figured that he either knew, or didn't want to know, so I kept my own counsel. And Paul was keeping me very busy. But this time it was different.

I was feeling tortured by loving both of them, and even the gifts Paul showered me with made me uncomfortable, especially knowing he was charging them to Peter. But that day, when he left for work, I called the psychiatrist I had seen briefly when Roger left me. The doctor seemed surprised to hear from me. It had been almost two years since I'd seen him, and I guess he had assumed that I had either killed myself, gone back to Roger, or found someone new to torture myself with. I was lucky, he had just had a cancellation, and told me he could see me in half an hour, if I could be there promptly, which I promised I would.

His office hadn't changed much in two years, the couch I sat on, facing him, seemed a little more worn, and the pictures on the wall seemed a little more depressing. He had lost more hair, and the carpet looked threadbare. Other than that, the place looked terrific. And he seemed happy to see me. And after the initial amenities, I decided to get to the point. I was feeling utterly confused about Peter and Paul. I was more in love with Peter than ever. He was everything I had ever wanted, and we got on perfectly when he was there. But when he wasn't, I was locked in this mad affair with Paul, my imaginary friend, as he called himself now, but the trouble was, he wasn't. He got more real to me every day, and I had him under my skin again in a way that really scared me, which was why I had come to see Dr. Steinfeld.

“So, Stephanie, what brings you here to see me?” Dr. Steinfeld asked kindly. “You haven't gone back to Roger, have you?”

“Oh God, no.” In fact, Charlotte had just told me that he and Helena were having a baby, and the funny thing was I didn't care at all. I had always thought that if that happened, it would unnerve me. But I was too busy doing the quadruple flip with Paul, and missing Peter in California to care about Roger and Helena's baby.

“No, it's something else.” I didn't want to waste even a second of my hour telling him about Helena and the baby. “I'm involved with two men, and it's driving me crazy. No, not two really, one. More or less.” I suddenly realized that this was not going to be easy, as Dr. Steinfeld looked at me with interest.

“You're involved with one man, or two? I'm not sure I'm reading you clearly.” Funny, I wasn't reading me clearly either. And he looked nearly as confused as I was.

“One real one. The other one is imaginary. Except that I have great sex with him. He only shows up when the real man is away. Actually, the real man sends him to me.” Dr. Steinfeld was nodding, and staring at me with fascination. I had clearly become more interesting, and much more neurotic than he ever thought I could be.

“And how is your sex life with the … er … real one?”

“Terrific,” I said with quiet certainty, and he nodded.

“I'm delighted to hear it. And the second man is only a fantasy? Which is it? You can tell me. I know you trust me.”

“It's actually both. I know this will sound crazy to you, Dr. Steinfeld. But the second man, Paul, is really the Klone of the first one. His name is Peter.”

“You mean they look very similar? Are they twins?”

“No, I mean they're the same person. Paul is Peter's clone, more or less. Peter is in bionics, and he's done some very unusual experiments, and I really love him.” Tiny little beads of sweat appeared on Dr. Steinfeld's forehead. Admittedly, this wasn't easy for either of us, and I was almost sorry I had come to see him.

“Tell me, Stephanie, have you been taking any medication? Self-medicating perhaps? You know, some drugs have serious side effects and can cause hallucinations.”

“I am not hallucinating. Paul is Peter's bionic clone, and Peter sent him to me when he went out of town. I slept with him for two weeks last fall and it's just started again. I feel completely crazy. Whoever I'm with is the one I'm most in love with … except I always love Peter. He's the real one.”

“Stephanie,” he said firmly then, “do you hear voices sometimes? Even when you're not with them?”

“No, I do not hear voices, Doctor. I am sleeping with two men, and I don't know what to do about it.”

“Then that's clear. Are they both real men, Stephanie? I mean humans, like you and I?”

“No,” I said cautiously, “one isn't. Paul is here right now, because Peter is away. He sent him to me.”

Dr. Steinfeld quietly mopped his brow and continued to stare at me, while I wished myself anywhere on the planet but in his office.

“Is Paul in the room with us right now?” he asked carefully. “Can you see him now?”

“ Of course not.”

“That's good. Do you feel abandoned when Peter leaves you? Do you need to fill that void with someone else, perhaps even someone imagined?”

“No. I don't just make him up because I feel rejected. Peter sends him to me.”

“How does he send him to you?” On a UFO maybe. By then he was obviously expecting something like that from me. It was hopeless.

“Paul arrives with about fifteen pieces of matched purple alligator luggage from Hermes. He has pretty eccentric taste in clothes too, but he's a lot of fun to be with.”

“What about Peter? What is he like?”

“Wonderful, conservative, smart, loving, he's great with my kids, and I'm crazy about him.”

“And what does he wear?”

“Blue jeans and button-down shirts, and gray flannels and a blazer.”

“Does that disappoint you? Do you fantasize about him being more like Paul?”

“No, I love him the way he is. He's actually sexier than Paul, without even trying. My knees go weak when I see him.” I smiled then, just thinking about it.

“That's nice, Stephanie. Very nice. And how do you feel about Paul?”

“I love him too. He loves to have a good time, and he's pretty badly behaved sometimes. But he loves my kids too, and he's very lovable, and amazingly good in bed. He does this thing where he does somersaults in the air, and then lands on the floor with me on top of him, and …” I could see that Dr. Steinfeld was rapidly approaching a nervous breakdown, and I felt sorry for him.

“Somersaults in the air? Is this the imaginary one, or the real one?”

“He's not imaginary. He's a Klone. A bionic clone. He has wires. But he looks just like Peter.”

“What happens when Peter returns, does he disappear again, or do you still ‘see’ him?”

“No. They take him back to the shop, check his wires, and take his head off.”

There was sweat running down the sides of Dr. Steinfeld's face by then, and he was frowning at me. I hadn't gone there to torture him, but to relieve myself, and it obviously wasn't working. For either of us.

“Stephanie, have you ever considered taking medication?”

“Like what? Prozac? I used to take Valium. You prescribed it for me.”

“Actually, I was thinking of something a little stronger. Something a little more suited to your problem. Like Depakote perhaps. Have you ever heard of it? Have you been taking medication since I last saw you?”

“No, I haven't.”

“Have you been hospitalized recently?” he asked sympathetically, and I started to panic, thinking he was about to call Bellevue to have me checked in. But maybe I belonged there.

‘No. And I know this sounds ridiculous, but it really is happening. I swear it.”

“I know you believe that. I'm sure they both seem very real to you.” I could see in his eyes that he was convinced that I had invented both of them, and was utterly crazy, which was true, but not to the degree he thought so. I hated Peter suddenly for unleashing this problem on me in the first place. “Now, our hour is up, but I want you to fill this prescription for some medication. And I'm going to make time to see you tomorrow.”

“I don't have time. Paul and I are taking the children Christmas shopping.”

“I see,” he said, looking even more worried. “Does Roger have custody of them?”

“No, I do.” But suddenly all I wanted to do was laugh when I looked at him. He was so dismayed by what I had told him. I just wish he could have seen Paul in silver or gold lame, puce, or chartreuse, or hot pink or bright purple. The leopard jumpsuit would have done it too, or the orange velour lounging suit he had worn the night before at dinner. Dr. Steinfeld would have loved him. He would have understood why I was so confused.

“Do you get headaches, Stephanie? Severe ones?”

“No, Doctor, I don't,” I said, smiling at him. I stood up then and he looked intensely worried. “I'm really sorry this is all so confusing.”

“We'll get it all sorted out soon. You'll feel much better on the medication. It will take a few weeks to take hold, so it's very important you start right away. I want you to call me tomorrow and make another appointment.”

“I'll do that,” I said, and practically ran out the door before he could commit me.

I hailed a cab and went home, and found Paul playing with the kids. He was already into his second bottle of bourbon, and all I could do was look at him and shake my head, just like Dr. Steinfeld.

“Are you okay?” he asked a few minutes later, when he came to see what I was cooking for dinner.

“No, I hate you,” and at that exact moment, I meant it. “I went to my old shrink this afternoon, and thanks to you and that lunatic who sent you here, I convinced him that I'm completely crazy.”

“Did you tell him you're not, we are?”

“I tried to. But I think he's right. I think it's contagious.”

“What did he tell you to do?” Paul asked with interest.

“Take medications for my hallucinations. I told him you were a Klone, and he asked me if you were in the room with me at that moment. Nice, huh?”

“Very. Believe me, if I'd been there, he would have known it.”

“No kidding.” He was wearing zebra velvet pants, and a black satin shirt open to the waist, with his peace sign. “He could have heard you, not just seen you.” Paul gave me a look. He heard something in my voice. I just wasn't in the mood for Paul's antics. For the first time, I was actually sick of the outrageous clothes he wore, the way he drank, and picking myself up off the floor after the double flip. I really missed Peter.

And after dinner, when Peter called me, I took the phone in the bathroom to talk in private.

“How's it going?”

“Fine, thank you. I'm completely crazy.”

“Are the kids giving you a hard time?”

“No, you are. Both of you,” I said, and he understood instantly what I was saying.

“Is he there again?” He sounded surprised, and not very happy about it.

“As if you didn't know. Didn't you send him?”

“Not this time. I thought you'd be okay without him since you were so busy.”

“So how did he get here?” For once, I wasn't sure I believed him. It was all too much now.

“Honest, Steph. I'm not sure. But if he's bugging you, just send him away. I'll have him picked up tomorrow. They'll take him back to the shop, and take his head off.”

“No,” I said much too quickly. “He can stay until you come back.” In spite of all the craziness of his being there, I wanted him to stay, but I didn't want to admit it to Peter.

“Do you want him there?” he asked, sounding upset.

“I don't know what I want anymore. That's the problem.” That much was the truth.

“I see.”

“Oh, for chrissake, you sound like Dr. Stein-feld.”

“Who's that?” It was the first time he had heard about him.

“A shrink who would have liked to have me committed today. This is all your fault. Why can't you just go away and let me miss you, like normal people? Instead you have to send a goddam Klone to take care of me, and drive me insane.” I was suddenly angry about it. It was all very upsetting. And it was all Peter's fault, no matter how much I loved him.

“I thought you'd like him.”

“I do.”

“Maybe too much so. Is that what you're saying?” He sounded nearly as upset as I did, and more than a little jealous.

“I don't know what I'm saying. Maybe we're both crazy.”

“I'll try to come home early.” He sounded genuinely worried.

“Maybe the three of us should just live together. And by the way, Helena is having a baby.”

“Is that what's really bothering you?”

“Maybe. No, I don't think so. But the kids are upset about it. They hate her. And the idea of a baby.”

“I'm sorry, Steph.”

“No, you're not.” Suddenly, I was crying, and I heard Paul in the next room, with the children. “He's an alcoholic, for chrissake, and if I see those goddam zebra pants again, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown. Maybe I am anyway. How did this ever happen to me?” It was all his fault, and I wanted to hate him for it. But I didn't. I still loved him. And I knew my kids did too. Even Charlotte, though she would have hated to admit it. And Sam had been his loyal follower for months, more than ever since Peter had come to his rescue when Roger flaked out on him on Halloween.

“It was just an experiment, that's all. Don't take it so seriously.” We both sounded like crazy people, but thank God Dr. Steinfeld couldn't hear us.

“Don't take it seriously? He's living here, and I'm in love with you, and sometimes I can't even tell you apart. When he's in the shower he looks like you. And when he gets dressed, he looks like goddam Elvis Presley.”

“I know. I know … we, tried straightening that out, but he wouldn't let us.” I suspected he didn't want to ask me how I knew what Paul looked like in the shower, but it was easy to guess what was happening between us, from everything else. Besides, I figured that, better than anyone, Peter knew Paul only too well.

“He thinks you should marry me. Can you imagine that? He's crazier than you are.” I was crying by then, and at Peter's end, there was a long silence. “Don't worry. I told him neither of us was crazy enough to do that.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” was all he said finally, sounding just a fraction cool.

“So am I. Maybe I need to leave both of you for a while, and try to get sane again.” I was better off alone back in front of the TV watching reruns. I thought I had a real life with Roger before that, but even that blew up in my hands. Now look what I had. The bionic man, and Dr. Frankenstein, the mad inventor. I was so upset, I just sat there and cried.

“The holidays are hard for everyone, Steph. You're just upset. Try to relax. I'll be home soon, and he'll be back in the shop. If you want me to, I can have him dismanded.”

“That's a terrible thing to do to him. Besides, I like him.” Which brought us right back to the beginning. I loved Peter, but I didn't want to lose Paul. It was an insane situation.

“Just take it easy. Get some sleep tonight. He's sleeping in the guest room, isn't he?”

“Yeah, sure.” You fool, I wanted to say to him. What do you think? He hadn't been built to sleep in anyone's guest room. “I love you,” I said forlornly.

“I love you too. I'll call you in the morning.”

He hung up then, and that night it was the same story all over again. I couldn't resist him. Quadruple flips and fantastic sex, candlelight and massages, and scented oil, and when morning came, I was still awake, and so confused, I hated both of them. I wanted Peter to come home, and the Klone to stay, and never to see either of them again, and if I never did another double or triple flip again it would be too soon, and I never wanted another piece of jewelry. I wanted it all to stay, and go away, and as I fell asleep finally, I was dreaming of Peter. He was standing there, watching me, with an arm around Helena, while Paul just stood there wearing those damn zebra pants again, and laughed at me.

Chapter Nine

By the end of Paul's second week with me, I was more confused than ever, but in spite of that, we always seemed to have a good time together. We went to all the Christmas parties I was supposed to go to, and in spite of a few minor faux pas, he actually did very well. I tried to get him to let me pick his outfits, but of course that was too much to ask. He had bought a silver suit with Christmas balls hanging all over the jacket, and the trousers were covered with tiny colored lights. He thought it incredibly festive, and the hostess at the first party we went to thought it was an enchanting joke. Little did she know he meant it, and felt he had made the fashion statement of the season.

He devoured all the hors d'oeuvres, gobbled up all the caviar, and when they ran out, he put their tropical fish in his drink and swallowed them too. I don't think anyone noticed, but I did, and we left before he could get seriously out of hand or upset the hostess more than he already had.

The second party we went to was given by old friends of mine who had met Peter. They sang Christmas carols, had a fabulous buffet, and insisted on playing charades after dinner in the living room. I did Gone With the Wind, and no one guessed it, which must have sparked something for Paul. Because he chose a single word, a “short one,” he gestured, and it only took me a few seconds to realize that the word he was acting out was fart. You can imagine what he did to get the point across. We left the party a little early that night, but in spite of my apologies, the host and hostess assured me that Paul had been a huge hit, particularly with their kids. They said he seemed a lot more “outgoing” than the first time they'd met him, and was a true free spirit, and keeping a close eye on him, I agreed with them all the way out. But I was furious with him for his outrageous behavior, and I said so in no uncertain terms after we'd left their apartment.

“That was a bit much, didn't you think?” I scolded him in the cab on the way home. I was not amused.

“What? The Christmas carols? No, I thought it was nice.”

“I mean what you did when you played charades. They were doing movies, Paul. I have never seen a movie called Fart.”

“Don't be so uptight, Steph. They loved it. Everyone laughed. It was so easy, I couldn't resist. It was their fault anyway. They shouldn't have served beans on the buffet. There's nothing Christmasy about beans,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No one forced you to eat them. You embarrassed me.” But as soon as I said it, he looked devastated.

“Are you mad at me, Steph?” But just looking at him in his Christmas ball suit, with the pants all lit up, I shook my head. How could I be? He was so lovable and so silly.

“I guess not, but I should be.” The worst of it was that as irritating as he could be, I knew I would miss him as soon as he left. And that day was coming soon. We only had a few days left. There was something about him that always hooked me, and I knew it wasn't his wardrobe, or even the double flip. There was something so basically decent about him, so innocent and so loving. He was agonizingly hard to resist. And I couldn't.

“I love you, Steph,” he said, snuggling close to me in the cab. “I wish I could spend Christmas with you.” I wanted to tell him I did not, but it wouldn't have been true. There were times when I wanted him to stay forever, with his crazy clothes and his outrageous behavior. He wasn't easy to take to parties, and yet when we were alone, we were always so happy.

He felt so remorseful about upsetting me that night that he suggested we stop at Elaine's for a drink. It had always been one of my favorite places with Roger, and I hadn't been there since he left me, but the idea appealed to me, and after hesitating for a minute, I agreed to go with him.

The cab dropped us off on the corner, and he put his arm around me, as we walked toward Elaine's. There was a huge, festive crowd at the bar as usual, and Paul ordered a double bourbon straight up and a glass of white wine for me. I didn't really want it, but it felt good to be there, and in spite of the ridiculous suit he was wearing, I was happy to be with him. And the crowd at Elaine's was eccentric enough that I figured he could get by there without attracting too much attention. It wasn't as difficult as going to a place like ‘21’ with him.

But I had just taken the first sip of my wine, when I turned and suddenly found myself staring at Helena in a red velvet cocktail dress trimmed in white rabbit or some kind of fur that was shedding in white clouds all over everyone standing at the bar near her. But far more impressive than the fur she was shedding was the amount of cleavage the dress left exposed. All I could do was stare at her enormous white bosom, it was so impressive it distracted one completely from noticing her ever so slightly protruding belly. And as I looked up I saw Roger, watching me watch her, and looking desperately uncomfortable, and then he glanced at Paul. The balls on his Christmas jacket suddenly looked larger than ever, and even in the crowd at the bar, the lights on his pants seemed to surround him in a kind of glow.

“What is that?” Roger said without preamble, staring at him in amazement. He knew about Peter from the kids, but nothing they had said had prepared him for what he saw.

“That's Paul … I mean Peter,” I said calmly, brushing some of the fur Helena's dress had lost off my nose.

“That's quite an outfit,” Roger said expressively, which Paul took as a compliment, but I knew Roger better, and saw with ease that he was appalled. “Thank you. It's Moschino,” he explained pleasantly, with no idea who Roger was, much less Helena. “I usually wear Versace, but I couldn't resist this for the holidays. What kind of fur is that?” he asked, staring at Helena's cleavage, and then turned to me with a smile. “Friends of yours?”

“My ex-husband, and his wife,” I said tersely, and then turned to my successor. I had to be polite for the children's sake, or maybe for Roger's. “Hello, Helena.” She gave me a nervous smile, and then told Roger she was going to powder her nose. She disappeared into the crowd in a cloud of white fur, as Roger grinned at the man he thought was Peter. He would have really had a rough time with it if he knew Paul was a Klone.

“The children have told me about you,” Roger said vaguely, as Paul nodded, and then told me he was going to see about getting us a table, and the next thing I knew Roger and I were alone, for the first time in ages. “I can't believe you'd go out with a guy who looks like that,” he said bluntly.

“At least I didn't marry little Miss Santa. I thought you were allergic to fur.” Or maybe he was just allergic to my flannel nightgowns and the fur on my legs.

“That's uncalled for,” he said bluntly. “She's the mother of your children's half-brother or sister,” he said coldly, looking just like the man I had come to hate in the end.

“Being married to you and getting pregnant doesn't make her respectable, Roger. It just makes her as dumb as I was. For now at least. What do you two talk about anyway, or do you bother to talk to her at all?”

“What do you do with him in that suit? Sing ‘Deck the Halls’?”

“He's nice to our kids. That counts for a lot,” and it was more than I could say for Helena, but I didn't say it to him. There was no point, but the children still reported every time they saw them that she never even talked to them, and she could hardly wait for them to leave on Sunday afternoon. I knew Roger had to know it too, and I wondered how he felt about it, and how much worse it would get after their own baby was born. But that was another matter, and not something that could be resolved at Elaine's. I was sorry we had come there, and had seen them. Roger didn't look any better than he had when he left me two years before. In fact, he looked a lot more tired, and a little older, and extremely bored. Helena was no brain-trust, but I had to admit she was striking and sexy, and her cleavage was pretty impressive, whether or not it was draped in rabbit fur. It wasn't too obvious yet that she was pregnant, but I suspected her boobs had grown even larger than the last time I'd seen them.

“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, with a wistful look, and I hated him for it. I didn't want him to be human, and more than anything I didn't want him to feel sorry for me because I was out with a Klone covered in blinking lights and Christmas balls.

“I'm fine, Roger,” I said quietly. But as I said it, I wasn't so sure that I was. I was in love with a most unusual man who was in California doing odd scientific things I didn't understand, and who had no desire to get married, and in his absence, I was sleeping with his Klone. It was not only tough to explain to Roger, but a little hard to come to terms with myself. As I thought about it, Paul returned from wherever he had been.

“We got a table,” he said proudly, reaching for my glass of wine, but all I wanted to do was go home. I could see Helena approaching, preceded by a small cloud of flying fur.

“It was nice to see you,” I said to Roger politely. “Merry Christmas,” and with that, I set down my wine, and left the bar with Paul. We passed Helena on the way, and I could smell her perfume. It was one I had worn ten years before, and I knew Roger had bought it for her, because it was one he really loved. He was hers now, and they had their own life. They were having a baby, and whatever mess I had made with my own life, it was not his problem, and maybe not even Peter's or Paul's.

I told Paul that I wanted to leave then, and he looked disappointed about the table, but he could see in my eyes that something was wrong. He followed me outside, and looked at me in the freezing night air as I took a deep breath, as much to free myself of the familiar sight and scent of Roger as of Helena's perfume and her fur.

“What happened?”

“I don't know,” I said, shaking in the December air it had just started to snow. “I didn't expect to see them … she's such a bimbo, and he's crazy about her. It was like a reminder of everything I felt when he left me. He left me for her.” I felt vulnerable and naked, and the cheesy dress and brassy hair were no consolation. The truth was he hadn't loved me. And for now at least, he loved her. I didn't want him anymore, that wasn't the point, and I wouldn't have taken him back if he'd asked me, but it still rubbed all my broken dreams in my face again.

“Don't feel bad, Steph,” Paul said kindly. “She's a giant zero. Her boobs aren't even real … and Christ, that awful dress! You're ten times better-looking than she is. Believe me. And who wants a woman with that kind of taste?” As he said it, his pants were twinkling brightly, and the Christmas balls on his jacket were dancing in the breeze, but somehow the look in his eyes touched me deeply, and he put one arm around me, hailed a cab with the other, and as we got into the taxi, he gently wiped away my tears.

“Forget them. We'll go home and light some candles, and I'll give you a massage.” And for once, it sounded like just what the doctor ordered. I was quiet in the cab, still shaken by the encounter, and Paul was gentle and understanding when we went upstairs.

I paid the sitter and was relieved to find that both kids had gone to bed early and were asleep. And that night, it was surprisingly soothing to let Paul massage me, and eventually to let myself be transported by his gentle passion, and a very modest double flip.

I felt closer to Paul after that, he had gotten me through a tough moment, seeing Roger with Helena, and had restored a little of my self-esteem. We went to see the Nutcracker with the children that week. Paul went dressed as Turkish Coffee. He did an exotic dance in the aisle and tried to get me to do it with him. And then we took Sam to see Santa, and Paul sat on Santa's lap after Sam did. He also picked out beautiful gifts for both Charlotte and Sam. In his own way, he did a lot of things right. And being with him reminded me of all the things Peter wasn't. It was as though someone had programmed Paul to do all the things Peter didn't do for me. The gifts, the time he spent with me, his childlike spirit when he played with Charlotte and Sam. The endless tenderness he showed me. He was impossible to resist, harder still not to love. And beneath all the absurdities and inappropriate behavior, he was a very good man. Or should I say, good Klone. Peter had done an extraordinarily fine job when he designed him.

Peter was calling me from California two and three times a day. And he couldn't help asking about Paul. He wanted to know what we were doing, what Paul was saying, what he was charging to him, and if he was driving the Jaguar. I wasn't going to tell him that he was, but in the end I had to, when he had another accident with it on the FDR Drive. It was snowing that afternoon, and the road was icy. And when he told me about it, I was just glad I had forbidden the children to go in the car with him. He had been singing to himself and listening to Peter's CD's, most of which he hated, but he liked the Whitney Houston CD I'd given him, and while he was singing, he sneezed apparently, and drove the car right off the road and onto the snow piled to one side. The car sat poised there for an interminable instant, while Whitney kept singing, and then it slid slowly down the other side and into the shallow water at the edge of the East River. It sat there half-submerged while Paul waited for the AAA for nearly two hours. He said it had been rough on the upholstery and the rugs were soaked when they finally pulled it out. He was afraid it might need a new engine, and hoped that Peter wouldn't mind too much.

I called Peter and told him, and he just groaned, and then whimpered pitifully when I told him what it would cost him to repair it.

“Just don't let him repaint it again,” was all Peter said before he hung up.

“How was he?” Paul asked, looking worried, when I told him what Peter had said about the Jaguar.

“Cranky,” I explained, but I was worried about Paul. After his little dip in the East River, he was catching a terrible cold. “He'll be all right,” I said gently. And then I told him the bad news. “He's coming back tomorrow.”

“So soon? That's two days early.” Paul looked crushed. He'd been planning to spend the rest of the week with me, before Peter got back from California.

“He says he has a board meeting he has to be at.” But I suspected it was more than that, and not just the car either, I had the feeling that he didn't want Paul staying with me anymore. And I could see Paul was upset about it.

We spent a quiet night that night, I wrapped him in blankets for his cold, and served him hot toddies, and every time I kissed him he sneezed, and his nose was red. But as sick as he was about to be, I knew the Jaguar looked much worse. And then, as I climbed into bed with him, he turned to me with an unusually serious air. He looked as though he had a lot on his mind, and he seemed uncharacteristically unhappy.

“What would happen if I stayed here?” he asked, looking worried, and I smiled. Maybe he had hit his head in the Jaguar.

“I seem to recall that you are, or have you forgotten?” I kissed him gently and he set down his glass on the table next to the bed, and then looked at me with concern.

“I mean after Peter gets back. What would happen if we told him I'm staying, and I'm not going back to the shop?” It was the first time he had ever said anything like that.

“Could you do that? Would they let you?” Just looking at the tenderness in his eyes, I was stunned, and a little worried.

“I could try. I can't leave you, Steph. I belong here. I love you … we're happy together. You need me.” I did, more than I had ever planned to, maybe even more than I could admit, but the truth was that I needed Peter too, far more than I loved or needed Paul. I had gotten caught up in the good times we had again, but in the last few days, I had thought a lot about Peter coming home. Peter was the one embedded deep in my heart. Paul was the fun, the life, the spirit, the laughter. But Peter owned a piece of my soul. I had just come to understand that lately. I needed more in my life than a quadruple flip, and a good time. I needed Peter's solidity, his strength, his quieter style to shore me up and feed the parts of me that Roger had starved for so long, possibly forever.

“I don't know what to say,” I said honestly as we lay there. “I love you, Paul.” And then I realized I had to be honest with him. “But maybe not enough. We'd have a lot to overcome. It's not easy being with a Klone. We'd be shunned by society if people ever found out. It could get very rough.” It was true, and we both knew it. I had thought about it a lot. And it wasn't that his offer wasn't tempting. There was no doubt about it, it was. But with Peter, if he'd ever let me, I could have a real life. With Paul, I knew I couldn't.

I'd marry you, Steph,” he said in a gentle whisper, and just hearing those words meant a lot. “He won't.” I sensed as Paul did that Peter had gotten too used to being on his own. Although I knew he loved me, his fear of commitment was in fact more powerful than his love.

“I know,” I said quietly. “But I love him anyway. I'm not even sure that matters to me anymore. I've been there, I've done that. I was married to Roger, and it all went wrong anyway. Marriage isn't a guarantee,” I said wisely, I knew whereof I spoke, better than Paul, “all it is is a promise, an act of faith, a symbol of hope.” That was a lot, I had to admit, but I also knew it wasn't a fair trade. There was always one who loved, and one who walked, sooner or later.

“It's what you want. You'll never get that from him. If he had to make a choice, he'd rather have you marry me. Do you think if he really loved you, he'd put up with me staying here every time he goes away, massaging you, and loving you, and taking you out to parties and dinners, and teaching you the double flip? Or even the quadruple?”

“Maybe not,” I said sadly. “But that doesn't change how I feel about him.”

“You were a fool once with Roger. Don't be a fool twice.” He was begging me and I couldn't bear to look at him.

“It could be too late for that,” I admitted. “I already am a fool about him.”

“We could have a great life, Steph, if you were willing to try it.” But the truth was, I wasn't. Much as I loved him, I couldn't entrust my life to a Klone, not entirely, no matter how alluring he was, or how much fun. There was still a lot he was not. I couldn't spend the rest of my life with a man who played charades and enacted the word fart at a dinner party. “You're missing the opportunity of a lifetime, Steph. You'd be the envy of all your friends.”

“I already am,” I said gently. “You're the best,” and then I sighed, and decided to tell him the truth. “I think I'm going to leave him, Paul,” I said sadly, tears already filling my eyes, and as he saw them, Paul looked shocked. He handed me a Kleenex and blew his nose too. He cried easily, which I knew was only a flaw in one of his wires, but it still touched me.

“When?” he asked.

“Soon. Probably after the holidays.” I had been thinking of it for days but I hadn't wanted to say anything to him. I thought I should tell Peter first. It seemed only fair. But it had implications for Paul too. It meant he wouldn't be coming back to see me anymore. How could he? If I gave up Peter, I would inevitably lose Paul. It was a rough decision to make, and I hadn't entirely made up my mind yet. But I knew I was much too in love with Peter, and far too entranced with Paul. They were both somewhat addictive, particularly in tandem. But the situation was just too insane. I couldn't go on sleeping with both of them. And as much as I loved Peter, I knew it was wrong. I couldn't go on being with him, and then living with Paul every time he left. Even if they had no qualms about it, I did. And I had my children to think of too. It had gotten too crazy this time. I was just too confused.

“Steph, are you sure?”

“Of course not,” I said, as fresh tears rolled down my face. “How can I leave him? He's wonderful, and I love him so much.” More than I could ever say. But what was the point of going on like this? I couldn't face the future watching him come and go, driving myself crazy over what could never be, and then consoling myself with Paul. Even if he didn't understand how wrong it was, I did. After all, although I wouldn't have said it to him quite so bluntly, he was only a Klone. And Peter was only a man. And this whole harebrained scheme had been his idea. It obviously suited him, and took a lot of the pressure off for him. He could be with me while he was in New York, whenever he wanted, and whenever he wanted to get away, there was always Paul. It was the perfect arrangement for him. It would have almost been easier to live with his trips to California, no matter how frequent they were, and be alone with my kids.

“Don't do anything hasty, Steph,” Paul urged me as we both started getting sleepy. “If you give him up, you lose me too.”

“I know.” It was a sobering thought, and I still had more thinking to do about it.

We tried the quadruple that night, after I stopped crying, and it went pretty well, although afterward I wondered if I might have cracked one of my ribs. I didn't want to upset Paul, so I didn't tell him, but as I lay in bed next to him afterward, thinking, he took my left hand and I felt him slip a ring on my finger.

“What are you doing?” I asked, looking worried, but he couldn't see the look on my face in the dark. I was hoping it was something he had found in a Cracker Jack box somewhere, but knowing him, that seemed unlikely. I finally couldn't stand the suspense anymore, turned on the light, and looked.

I gasped when I saw it. It was the most exquisite ruby ring I had ever seen, nearly forty carats, in the shape of a heart.

“Paul, you can't do this … I won't let you … this time it really is too much.” And I honestly meant it.

“It's all right, Steph,” he said, smiling. “I charged it to him.” I was sure he had, but even so, it was an incredible gift, and a spectacular ring. But I wondered what the implications of it were, and I looked at him with a question in my eyes. But Paul smiled at me and shook his head. “It's not an engagement ring. It's a Christmas present … to remember me by.” There were tears in his eyes as he said the words, and in mine as I kissed him.

“I love you, Paul,” I said, and meant it. For that moment in time, I didn't give a damn if he was only a Klone. He was the kindest, funniest, sweetest, sexiest man I had ever known. Maybe even more than Peter.

“I love you too, Steph. I want you to take care of yourself while I'm gone. Don't let him drive you crazy … or break your heart. He will if you're not careful.” He already had in a way, but I didn't want to face it.

“He does anyway, drive me crazy, I mean. And so do you.” But the rewards he gave me almost made it worth it, I thought as I looked down at the enormous ruby heart. ‘That's the trouble with all this,” I said, thinking out loud, as he looked at me.

“What? The jewelry?”

“No, the fact that you both drive me crazy. Or maybe I already was. Maybe that's why he picked me. I guess he knew what he was doing in Paris.” But Paul knew, without even saying it to me, that Peter knew a lot of things. He was a smart man. The only thing he didn't know was if he really loved me. If he did, why would he want to share me with a Klone? There was more than just convenience involved, or the desire to show off an invention that was unique. I wondered if he wanted to get rid of me after all, if he wanted me to marry Paul. But whatever his intentions, or his twisted theories, I knew that I loved Peter, and only to a lesser degree, Paul.

And musing over all of it for the hundred millionth time, I put my arms around Paul with the ruby ring still on my finger, and fell asleep, but it was Peter I dreamed about all night as I slept fitfully till morning, not Paul, which told me something.

Chapter Ten

Given everything we'd said to each other the night before, it was very emotional for both of us when Paul left this time. There was no longer the absolute certainty that he would return. I couldn't promise him anything, and he knew it.

“In a few hours, I'll have my head off again, and all my wires hanging out, and you'll be back with him,” he said, looking mournful. “I hate to think about it,” and then he looked at me with greater tenderness than I'd ever seen. “I just want you to be happy, Steph. That's all. Do whatever you have to do.” And I knew, as I looked at him, that he meant it, and I loved him for it.

“Can I still see you if I leave him?” I was worried now about all the things that I'd said. I wasn't feeling quite as brave, and worse yet when he shook his head, and almost started crying.

“No, you can't. It doesn't work like that. I can only stand in for him. I can't see you on my own.”

“But you said … you asked me to marry you last night….” I was confused. Would Peter have been part of it too? What was Paul thinking?

“I was kidding myself, Steph. We could get married, but I'd still be dependent on me.” He said it honestly, he didn't want to lie to her, he never had before and he wasn't going to start now. “I'd have to share you with him, even if you loved me more.”

“Sometimes I think I do.” I was always honest too. But most of the time, I knew just how much I loved Peter.

“I think you're really in love with him, Steph. Maybe you should explain that to him.”

“I'd probably scare him to death,” I said, looking pensive. And what was the point? Our relationship worked perfectly as it was. For him. Why ask for more? Why push it till it broke? I didn't want that.

“As Charlotte says, he's a dork,” Paul editorialized. “Maybe you both are. It could just be you deserve each other. Life is too short to waste what you've got. Or even waste me. It drives me crazy to think I'm going to sit around now, for months, with my head off, while the two of you screw everything up. Just get him to work on his triple flip. But he's a real klutz. He could hurt himself. Be careful.” Paul was trying to cover how emotional he felt about leaving me, and I was especially worried about him when he showed up in black suede leggings with a black sequined jacket and high-heeled black alligator boots. I had never seen him looking so conservative or so somber.

“I don't like leaving you like this, Steph,” he said sadly, “not knowing when I'll see you again, if ever.”

“I suspect you will.” I smiled sheepishly at him. How could you leave a man who had a Klone? Especially one like Paul. “I'm not sure I could ever give either of you up. I think I'm hooked. I may have to go back to Dr. Steinfeld again, to work things out, and that could take forever.”

“Please don't. You don't need him. You know what you want.” He smiled sadly at me, and I could see how much he loved me.

“Take care of yourself,” I said to him as he kissed me for the last time. I was still wearing his ruby ring, and knew I always would. He said he wanted me to keep it.

“Give the kids my love.” They had already left for school. And then, he looked over his shoulder, as the elevator man piled all his luggage into the elevator, and said, “Be happy, Steph, whatever you do.” The door closed behind him before I could answer, and I wondered if I would ever see him again. At that exact moment, I wasn't sure, and I already missed him.

And as I drove to the airport in a rented car, a frosted purple Tornado chosen by Paul, I could still hear the echo of Paul's words. I wondered where he was now, if his head was already off by then, if his wires were being pulled. I knew he had a couple of problems again. He had been smoking all week, from his left ear and right nostril, and I wasn't sure what that meant.

And as I stood at the gate, waiting for Peter, all I could think about was Paul. It was the most confusing relationship I'd ever been in. Roger had at least been boring. He slept a lot, and watched a lot of TV. He even watched Jeopardy! from time to time, and Geraldo, although he never admitted it when I walked into the room, and he clicked the set off. But there was nothing boring about Peter or Paul. Worse yet, they somehow complemented each other. Together, they were a whole man. And what a man!

I was still lost in my own thoughts as Peter walked off the plane, and I didn't even see him until he was standing next to me and pulled me into his arms without a word. He kissed me and then pulled away to look at me more closely.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking me over carefully, as though he expected me to be different, but I was still the same, and just as in love with him as I had been since the summer. He was wearing a blazer and gray slacks and a gray turtleneck sweater, and a new pair of Gucci shoes he had bought in California. He looked as handsome as ever. He'd had a haircut while he was gone, and he looked sexy and powerful. “I've been worried about you.”

“I've been fine.” I had been, except for my back, of course, after two weeks of the triple flip and the occasional quadruple. Paul had suggested I look into either a trainer, or a brace. “How was California?”

“The same.” He told me about his trip as he went to pick up his luggage, and much to my surprise, he never asked me once about Paul. But as we headed for the garage, he noticed the heart-shaped ruby ring on my finger. “Where did you get that?” he asked, looking worried. But I knew he suspected where it came from. And who was paying for it.

“From you,” I said quietly and he was polite enough not to comment. But he frowned and then groaned when he saw the purple Tornado.

“Did you have to rent a car that color?”

“It was all they had left,” I explained politely.

“How long will the Jaguar be in the shop?”

“Three months.”

“He's not having it repainted, is he?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second and then nodded. ‘It's a lovely shade of periwinkle blue. Paul thought you'd love it.”

“Why not orange or lime green?” he said irritably, tossing his bags in the trunk and glaring at me.

“He thought you'd prefer the blue.”

“I'd prefer it if he didn't drive it when he visits. In fact,” he looked at me unhappily as he slipped behind the wheel, “I think I'd prefer it if he didn't visit you. He just causes a hell of a lot of trouble, and he's a bad influence on the kids.”

“That's up to you,” I said meekly. I had never seen Peter in such a bad mood. It must have been a rough trip, or maybe he was just upset about the Jaguar.

“Yes, it is up to me,” he said sternly.

He didn't relax until we got home and I offered to massage him. He said his neck had been bothering him all week. It was obviously tension. But I'd had my fair share of that too. Bouncing back and forth between the two of them like a Ping-Pong ball wasn't exactly easy for me. And by that night, I was utterly confused again. I was beginning to feel as though I needed an exorcist more than a boyfriend. It was as though Peter had never left at all and Paul had never existed. It was eerie. I was in love with whichever one I was with and always slightly less enamored with the other. At that moment, I was once again profoundly entranced by Peter. He made omelettes for me and the children, and acted as though he'd never left us. The children no longer even looked surprised to see him in gray flannel instead of chartreuse. They had seen him make that switch before, and still blamed it on stress and mood swings, or trouble at the office.

And after they went to bed, we wound up in my bedroom, predictably, and he looked at me with longing. I knew what he had in mind, and I had the same intentions, but I warned him that I wasn't up to the double flip. He looked upset when I said it, and walked into the bathroom without saying a word. It was as though he didn't like hearing about Paul anymore, although it was Peter who had sent him.

I heard Peter take a shower, and he came out in his navy pajamas, which I had washed that morning, and the cleaning lady had pressed with infinite precision.

I had locked the door, and we were very quiet, so the children wouldn't hear, and it was only after we had made love, that he started to unwind. He put an arm around me, sighed deeply, and told me how much he had missed me. And just as it had been before, I knew with utter certainty that my heart was his and not Paul's. It was always so much fun being with Paul, but my relationship with Peter was more powerful and had deeper meaning.

But the transition still wasn't easy for me, and when he left at three o'clock that morning, all I could think of was Peter and not Paul. Being with Peter just seemed so much more real to me. But the odd thing was I was afraid that it was Paul who really loved me, and not Peter.

“I'll call you in the morning,” Peter whispered before he left, and I was sound asleep before he closed the door, dreaming of both of them, as they each held a hand out to me, and I wasn't sure which one to reach for.

And when I awoke the next morning, the sun was streaming into the room, but I felt a certain sadness. It was odd not waking up and seeing Paul. And I didn't know why, but I felt as though sometime during the night, I had lost him.

Peter said that I seemed quiet when he came by at lunchtime, but I told him I was fine. I had just been thinking of some of the things that Paul had said. But more than ever, I was aware of how difficult it all was, changing back and forth from one to the other. Being so comfortable with Peter, and then having to adjust to Paul. Getting used to all his tricks and pranks, and wardrobe, spending my nights doing triple flips, and then letting him go. Back to Peter again. From love to lust and back again to the point of madness. As much as I loved this man, it was asking a lot to expect me to love both man and Klone. And I didn't want to say anything to Peter about how difficult it was. But I suspect he knew it. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and it all sounded so absurd. I didn't know anymore how long I could continue. The only thing I did know was how much Peter meant to me, what a rare gift he was in my life. I knew that was a turning point for me, but I didn't think he was ready to hear it.

“You miss him, don't you?” Peter asked when we went for a walk in Central Park that afternoon. It was snowing, and very cold. And I looked at him and nodded. I did. But he was, after all, only a Klone. I knew that now, a conglomeration of computer chips and wires enclosed in fuchsia satin. Peter had a mind, a heart, a soul, and much quieter taste in clothes. But in spite of that, I really loved him. “I thought about it on the way home,” Peter said quietly. “I haven't been very fair to you, have I?” He hadn't. But then again, what man was? Roger hadn't been fair either. And Peter seemed fairer than most. He was more of everything than any man I'd ever known. And he had a Klone, which made him doubly entertaining.

“I'm not complaining.” But I had to Paul. I had complained a lot about Peter's insensitivity to the situation, and my feelings.

“What does the ring mean? Just another gift, or something more?” He actually looked worried, as snowflakes settled on his hair and nose. He had stopped walking and was looking at me, with eyes full of questions. He looked tortured.

“Just another gift,” I said, looking pensive, remembering when Paul had put it on my finger. I hadn't taken it off since then.

“Did he propose?” I hesitated for a long time before I answered, not sure what Paul would want me to tell him. But my real loyalty was to Peter, and not to the Klone. I nodded silently as we walked.

“I thought so. And what did you say?” He looked grim, but as though he thought he had a right to know.

“I told him I couldn't marry a Klone,” I said simply.

“Why not?” Peter stopped walking again and looked at me as the snow fell all around us.

“You know as well as I do. I can't marry a Klone. He's a computer, a machine, a creation, not a human. It's ridiculous to talk about it.” Besides, and perhaps more importantly, I loved Peter, and not in any real sense Paul. No matter how appealing he was, Paul was merely an illusion. Peter was whole, or at least I thought so.

Peter was strangely quiet as we walked home. He said he had to go back to his apartment then, and he'd call me later. But by dinnertime, he hadn't called. The kids were with Roger for the rest of the weekend, and I called Peter several times that evening, but he never answered. I left him several messages, and then sat in the dark, in my bedroom, watching the snow, wondering where he was, and what had happened between us.

I didn't hear from him again until the next morning, and when he called, he sounded oddly cold. He said he'd had a call from California, and he was leaving that morning. He didn't want me to take him to the airport, and he'd be back in a few days. “Before Christmas,” he said vaguely.

“Is something wrong?” The tone of his voice frightened me. He seemed suddenly very distant.

“No, it's just an emergency meeting. Nothing crucial, but I want to be there.” He offered no further explanation.

“I mean with us.” My voice was trembling as I asked. I had never heard him sound so cold. He sounded like a different person.

“Maybe. We'll talk about it when I get home.”

“I don't want to wait that long.” I could hear it in his voice. The end had come. I suspected he wouldn't even bother to send Paul. Peter sounded as though he were retreating into his own world, and there was no room for me in it.

“I just need some time off,” he explained, but his voice sounded icy, as the snow continued to fall beyond the windows. ‘I'll see you in a few days. Don't worry if I don't call.” I told him I wouldn't, and was crying when I set the phone down. Maybe it was another woman. Maybe that was why he was going back to California. Maybe this time he, instead of Paul, had been recalled, by a blonde in San Francisco. Another Helena. I was deeply worried about it.

I sat alone, in the apartment that afternoon, turning it all over in my mind, wondering what had gone wrong, what I had done, why he seemed so cold and angry. We had been together for exactly five months by then, which seemed like a healthy chunk of time to me, but in the perspective of a lifetime was but a moment. I wondered if I'd hear from him at all, or if he'd even come back for Christmas as he'd promised. And his “We'll talk about it when I get home,” sounded anything but happy. He said he'd call when he got back, and then hung up, without telling me he loved me. I could smell another heartbreak in my future. Perhaps even by Christmas, if I was very unlucky.

The children were due back at five-thirty, and half an hour before that, the doorbell rang. I figured Roger was dropping them off early, and went to open the door, still looking glum. I was very depressed about Peter. And as I pulled open the door, I saw Paul standing there, shaking the snow off his mink coat. He was wearing it over red spandex leggings and a shimmering red Versace sweater, with red alligator cowboy boots. Peter had sent him after all. For a moment, I was relieved. At least I wouldn't be alone now.

“Hi,” I said glumly, as he swept me into his arms and off the floor, and spun me around till I was dizzy. He had on silver mittens with little ermine tails on them, and as he hugged me, he pulled them off and dropped them at my feet like gauntlets. I noticed then for the first time that he had new luggage. The purple alligator Hermes had disappeared, and he had bright red ostrich cases, made by Vuitton, with P.K. emblazoned on them in tiny pave diamonds.

“You don't look happy to see me,” he said, taking his coat off and looking disappointed. The truth was, I wasn't. I just couldn't play the game anymore. I had said my good-byes to him two days before, made my peace with it, knowing it might be the last time we would see each other. And then my heart had turned to Peter. He was all I could think of now, as I looked at Paul, desperately sorry this time that Peter had sent him to me.

“He left,” I said sadly, as twin tears rolled down my cheeks, longing for one of my old flannel nightgowns. I was in no mood for fun, or Paul. It was just too much for me to handle. I felt as though I were living in a revolving door, ricocheting from one to the other. But I knew where my heart had stopped now, and I knew better yet that Peter didn't care, and Paul was unable, or unwilling, to understand it. But at least, for once, I did.

“I know why you're upset,” Paul said happily, grinning as he marched into the kitchen, tracking snow all over my front hall with complete abandon. He opened the cupboard where the bourbon was, and this time pulled out a bottle of vodka. And within seconds had tossed down two shots, and poured himself a third one. It was the first time I'd ever seen him drink vodka, but he seemed to love it. “Peter said you were missing me terribly,” he explained, looking pleased with himself, and tenderly at me, “that's why he sent me.” He was strolling around my kitchen, looking as though he owned it, which annoyed me severely. He was, after all, only a Klone, and he didn't own me.

“I wish he hadn't sent you, Paul,” I said honestly. “I'm not up to it. I don't think you should stay,” I said sadly.

“Don't be silly.” He ignored me, as he sprawled across a chair, and tossed back another shot of vodka. “He's not good for you, Steph. I think he depresses you. It must be the way he dresses.” All I could think of was that Paul looked like a giant strawberry as he sat there in my kitchen in his red spandex leggings. They were blinding.

“I like the way Peter dresses.’ I defended him, and meant it. “He looks wonderful and virile and sexy.”

“You think gray flannel is sexy?” I nodded and he groaned, licking his lips after the vodka. “No, Stephanie, gray flannel is not sexy. It's boring.” He looked completely confident as he said it.

“I love him,” I said from across the room, watching him, wondering why I had ever thought I loved him. Paul was a cartoon, not a person. Actually, he was neither, but we both knew that. It didn't seem to daunt him.

“No, you don't, Steph. You love me, and you know it.”

“I love being with you. I have fun with you. You're wild and funny and sweet and entertaining.”

“And great in bed,” he added, feeling the glow of the vodka. “Don't forget that.”

“You don't have to do acrobatic acts to be great in bed,” I said quietly, I had never wanted to be in the circus.

“Stop making excuses for him. We both know the score. He's pathetic.”

“No,” I said, growing angry suddenly, “you are. You think that you can just swoop in here whenever he leaves and play with me, flip me around in midair, drinking yourself blind, and make a fool out of me with my friends, and I'll be so blown away by you, I'll forget him. Well, I don't. I can't. I never will. I don't even think he loves me, if you want to know the truth. But even if he doesn't, I still love him.”

“You're disgusting.” Paul looked deeply offended, and I was suddenly afraid I had gone too far and really hurt his feelings. His wiring was extremely sensitive, and I knew how easy it was to bruise his ego. “And you're right. He doesn't love you. I don't think he knows how. That's why he built me. He wanted me to do all the fancy footwork. And I do. Let's face it, Steph. I make him look good. Without me, he's nothing.”

“Without him, you are,” I said bluntly, and Paul looked as though I'd hit him. I wanted to stop then, but I couldn't. I knew that for the sake of my own sanity, I had to be honest with him. I was crazy about him. I enjoyed him endlessly. I had never had as much fun before, and I cared about him deeply, but in the past two days I had discovered what I had always suspected secretly. I didn't love him. I loved Peter. Utterly, completely, and truly. Even if Peter never understood it. That still didn't change it.

“You hurt my feelings, Steph,” Paul said, pulling the vodka bottle out again, and taking a long swig from the bottle. And then he burped loudly as he set it back down on the table. It was one of those little things I loved about him.

“I'm sorry, Paul. I had to say it.”

“I don't believe you. And neither does Peter. He knows you love me.”

“What makes you think so?”

“He told me,” Paul said bravely. “He called before he left for San Francisco.”

“What did he say?” I asked, curious about the things they talked about, and what they said about me. Contemplating that was more than a little unnerving. No woman liked to think of both her lovers conferring.

“He just said you'd been depressed ever since he got back, and he needed to get away. He's been getting much too close to you, apparently. He missed you a lot when he was away. And he said he could see when he returned how much you missed me. You did, didn't you?” He grinned victoriously at me.

“I always miss you,” I said honestly. “And I was depressed thinking I might not see you again.”

“Why wouldn't you?” The Klone looked puzzled.

“I wouldn't see you if I left him, Paul. We talked about it.”

“Why would you leave him, if you supposedly love him so much?”

“Because he doesn't love me. And I can't play this game forever, sleeping with both of you. It's not decent, and it's too tough an adjustment. One minute I'm bounding off the walls with you, and trying to keep you from mooning the buses on Fifth Avenue, the next I'm trying to be respectable with him, and adjust to what his needs are. And whatever they are, I'm not sure that they include me at the moment. He barely said goodbye to me when he left for California.”

“Because he knows that we belong together.”

“You belong in the shop, with your head off. And I belong in the nuthouse.” But much more to the point, I knew I belonged with Peter. Forever, if he'd let me. But that seemed unlikely now.

“He doesn't want to stand between us,” Paul said with confidence, as though he knew Peter better than I did, and spoke for him.

“Then he's crazier than you are.” But before I could say more, the children came home from their weekend with Roger and Helena, and wanted to complain about it. They were used to Paul by then, and the exotic outfits he wore, that they scarcely noticed him sitting in the kitchen, and of course they thought it was Peter.

“Nice pants,” Charlotte commented as she helped herself to a Dr Pepper and continued to complain about what a bitch Helena was, and how disgusting she looked with her boobs bigger than ever, while I urged her to be respectful. It was useless. I was still talking to her when Paul disappeared with Sam conspiratorially, and I almost had a heart attack half an hour later, when I went to look for them, and saw Paul hand him a live iguana. He had it in his suitcase.

“Oh my God!” I screamed. “What is that?”

“His name is Iggy,” Sam said proudly. “A friend of Peter's brought him back from Venezuela.”

“Well, tell him to take it back there. You can't have that thing in this house, Sam.” I was panicked.

“Oh, Mom …” Sam turned his huge eyes up to mine and begged me.

“No! Never!” And then I turned to Paul in fury. Not only had he come uninvited as usual, and unwanted this time, but he had brought a monster with him. “You can make a lovely pair of boots out of him, one at least. I'm sure your friend in Venezuela can find you another. You won't even have to dye them. They're green already. Now put that thing back in your suitcase!” Paul picked him up off Sam's head, where he had been resting, and cradled him lovingly, while Sam continued to beg me to keep him. “Forget it, both of you! Get rid of him. Or I'm sending both of you to Venezuela with him. Good-bye, Iggy!” I said pointedly and went back to the kitchen to cook dinner. What was I going to do with him? And with or without Iggy, this time I knew Paul was not going to be staying. I had made a decision.

I was cooking pasta when Paul walked back into the kitchen again, with a serious expression. “I'm disappointed in you, Steph. You've lost your sense of humor.”

“I've grown up. You wouldn't understand. You're not real. You can afford to be Peter Pan forever. I can't. I'm a grown woman, with two children.”

“You sound like Peter. He always says stuff like that. That's why everyone thinks he's so boring.”

“Maybe that's why I love him. Besides, he would never do a thing like that, bring something like that to Sam. A goldfish maybe, or a hamster. Maybe a dog. But not a helio-monster or whatever that thing is.”

“He's an iguana, and he's a beauty. And what makes you think he wouldn't do that? You don't know him.”

“I know him intimately, and believe me, he would not give my son an iguana.”

“Well, pardon me for living,” he said, pulling out the cooking sherry and drinking half the bottle. “Do I have time for a shower before dinner?”

“No,” I said firmly, “and you can't stay here tonight.”

“Why not?” He looked disappointed as he started to hiccup. “That sherry is awful, by the way, you shouldn't use it.”

“You shouldn't drink it.”

“I finished the vodka, and you're out of bourbon.”

“I didn't know you were coming. Peter only drinks martinis.”

“I don't care what he drinks. And why can't I stay here?”

“Because I'm turning over a new leaf. I think he was really upset about you this time. I don't want to screw up a relationship that's important to me, even if he did send you.”

“Isn't it a little late for that? Besides, you don't even think he loves you.” He sounded mean when he said it. It was the vodka talking. Or maybe the sherry.

“That's not the point. Whether he loves me or not, I love him. And you can't sleep here.”

“I can't go back to the shop,” he said stubbornly. “I don't have the keys, and it's closed on Sundays.’

“Then stay at the Plaza. You have his American Express card. Charge it to Peter.”

“Only if you stay there with me.”

“Forget it … and besides, I don't have a sitter,” I said, distracted, as the pasta started burning. All the water had boiled off while we discussed the iguana and whether or not he could sleep there.

“Then I'll stay here,” he said practically. “I'll he comes back from California.”

“Paul,” I said firmly, looking him squarely in the eyes, “you can stay for dinner, but after that, you're leaving.” And I wasn't kidding, as Charlotte walked into the room and looked at both of us with a curious expression.

“Who's Paul?” she asked, wondering what game we were playing. “What happened to dinner?”

“I burned it,” I said through clenched teeth, glaring at both of them, as Sam wandered in, holding the iguana.

“Get that thing out of here!” I screamed at him, as I dropped the pot of burned pasta in the sink. It was beyond salvation.

“I hate you!” Sam said, as he went back to his room with Iggy.

“You really should let him keep it,” Paul said gently, “it means a lot to him.”

“Get out of my life!” I said, wanting to scream or cry or hit him.

“You won't let me,” he said, smiling at Charlotte. “Your mother gets very nervous when she cooks, doesn't she? Do you want me to whip something up?” he offered helpfully, as I pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer.

“No, thank you.” He took out the liar's dice then, and started playing with Charlotte, as I banged and slammed my way around the kitchen.

It was nine o'clock by the time I served dinner, and I somehow managed to burn the pizza.

It was after ten when I finished cleaning up the kitchen. Sam was asleep in his room by then, and he still had the iguana with him. When I went to kiss him good night, I saw it lying next to him, on the pillow, and closed the door gently so it couldn't escape. Paul was going to have to take it with him. I was never going to let Sam keep it.

“Is he asleep?” Paul asked gently, as I came back to the kitchen. He was working on my only bottle of sapphire gin. I had been saving it for Peter, but it didn't seem to matter as much suddenly. Peter had said we “had to talk,” which was always a death knell. He was probably going to dump me when he came back from California, if he hadn't already. He probably just hadn't had the guts to tell me. I remembered how quiet he had been when we walked in the park in the snow, and the way he had looked at me after he saw the ruby ring Paul gave me.

I poured myself a small glass of the gin, poured some tonic in it, and threw in a couple of ice cubes.

“I thought you didn't drink.” He looked shocked when he saw it.

“I don't. But I think I need it.”

“How about a massage?”

“How about taking your iguana and going to a hotel, without me?” I had had all I could take for one night, two burned dinners, a romance on the rocks, and a giant lizard loose in my son's bedroom, not to mention this lunatic I'd been sleeping with, who had probably cost me my relationship with Peter. And Paul wasn't even human. My life was a shambles. I'd been shaving my legs religiously for two years, had sworn off blueberries, had met the finest man I'd ever known, and managed to screw it up somehow by having an affair with R2D2.

“I think you should go to see Dr. Steinfeld,” Paul said sympathetically as he watched me sipping my gin and tonic.

“Maybe we all should.” I was too tired to pursue the subject further. All I wanted was to see Peter, instead of Paul, sitting comfortably in my kitchen in his scarlet leggings. “Don't those things itch? I can't wear them.” I was slowly getting drunk on one drink and didn't care. My life was over anyway. I had lost Peter.

“Yes, they do,” Paul said conversationally, indifferent to the desperation I was feeling. “I'll take them off in a minute.”

“Not here,” I said pointedly, and he smiled.

“Of course not. I meant in the bedroom.” I sat back in the kitchen chair, and groaned, with my eyes closed. Why had Peter done this to me? Why couldn't he have picked up someone else in Paris and inflicted his Klone on some other unsuspecting woman? I was in love with Jekyll and Hyde. Jekyll mostly, and he didn't want me. And I couldn't get Hyde the hell out of my life, my hair, or my kitchen. And I was exhausted from trying. “Where's Charlotte?” he asked with mild concern as he got up and stretched.

“Asleep.” She had gone to bed right after Sam had.

“So early?”

“I asked her to clean up her room and do her homework. That's like giving her nitrous oxide. She passed out as soon as I said it.” It also explained why the apartment was so peaceful.

I finished the gin and tonic and stood up, looking at him, wondering if there was any hope of getting rid of him that night, but I didn't think so. It might just be easier to let him sleep there, one last time, and then throw him and his iguana out in the morning.

“Why don't you sleep in the guest room?” I suggested, giving in, but not completely. He could have my guest room, but not my virtue, or my heart. They belonged to Peter. I was sure now. I was not going to be swayed again, into believing that I loved Paul. I didn't. And then I remembered. The guest room was full of Christmas presents, and it would have taken hours to remove them. I had been piling them up in there for days, and I had nowhere else to put them. They weren't wrapped yet, and I didn't want the kids to see them. You couldn't even find the bed in there. The situation was distressing. “I just remembered. You can't sleep there. You can sleep on the floor of my bedroom.”

“I can't,” he said convincingly, as my whole body sagged listening to him. I was losing the man I loved, and couldn't get rid of the Klone he had inflicted on me. “I can't sleep on the floor,” he explained, “it's bad for my wiring. It distorts it.”

“I'll call an electrician for you tomorrow. That's your only option.”

“You're all heart, Steph.”

“Thank you.” I turned off the lights, put my glass in the sink, and he followed me to my bedroom. And as soon as I closed the door, he stripped off the red spandex leggings. I tried not to see how great his legs were. Having been made with great precision and great care, his legs were every bit as splendid as Peter's.

I disappeared into the bathroom and put on a nightgown and a robe, and tied it. I would have slept in my ski clothes if I could have. I was determined to resist him.

“ ‘Are you cold?” he asked, looking surprised by the bathrobe.

“No, frigid,” I said simply, and climbed into bed, as he went to brush his teeth. He was good about those things, even though he had no need to go to the dentist. His teeth were white and perfect, and were actually made of porcelain over some very rare metal. He had explained it to me once when I asked him. He had no idea what it was to get a filling. Lucky devil.

And when he returned from the bathroom, the lights were off and I pretended to be sleeping. I was lying on my side at the edge of the bed, and I fully expected him to sleep on the floor, which was another sign of insanity on my part. He had no intention of it. And within seconds, I felt him slip into bed beside me. I couldn't see if he was wearing Peter's pajamas, but prayed he was. And then I heard him strike a match, and knew what he was doing. He was lighting the candle, but I didn't dare say anything for fear he would know I wasn't sleeping, and then a moment later, I felt him gently touch my shoulders and start to massage them. I lay there, tense, hating him for being so nice to me. But I knew there was a reason for it. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I was determined that, for once, no matter how enticing he was, he wouldn't get it.

But I had to admit as he massaged my shoulders, and rubbed my back, it was incredibly relaxing. And after a while, in spite of myself, I sighed, and rolled over on my stomach.

“Better?” he whispered in the candlelight, and the sound, of his voice always made me feel sensual and happy, and tonight it made me feel just a little sad. He sounded just like Peter.

He moved closer to me to massage my arms, and intent on resisting him, I stiffened. “Don't come any closer. I have a loaded gun in the pocket of my nightgown.”

“So shoot me.”

“It'll screw up your wiring forever.”

“I think you're worth it.” But this time, even though I loved the sound and feel of him, I wasn't swayed. I wasn't hooked. I wasn't swooning. All I could think about was Peter. “What are you thinking?” he asked as he worked his way down my back again, and then massaged my buttocks.

“I was thinking about him,” I admitted sleepily, my voice funny from the pressure of his hands on my back. “I miss him. Do you suppose he'll come back … to me, I mean? … I think he hates me.”

“No, he doesn't,” he said softly. “I think he loves you.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, rolling over on my back to look at him. It was the nicest thing he'd said all night, and then I realized it was a ruse to make me look at him, as he leaned over and kissed me. “Don't …” I whispered in the candlelight, but the word was lost as he continued to kiss me. I didn't forget Peter then, only myself, as his hands began to move slowly beneath my nightgown. “Paul … don't … I can't….”

“Just one last time … please … and then I swear I won't come back again….” But this time, when he said it, I knew I wouldn't miss him. Our time was over.

“We shouldn't …” I tried valiantly to resist him, and then wondered what difference it would make. Just one last time … for old times’ sake … something to remember. And before I could stop him, he had started making love to me, and my dressing gown and nightgown disappeared somewhere onto the floor, as I abandoned myself to him, knowing full well I shouldn't. But it was hard to remember anything as my body sang at his touch. It was a song I knew I would long remember. It would be something to dream of, after both Peter and Paul left me. Just one more memory of a time of madness.

And as I gave in to him completely, he held me in his arms and I could feel him preparing to soar into the air and do one last quadruple flip with me. I smiled as I felt it begin, too transported by him to resist it. It felt as though we were suspended in midair forever, and as we prepared to land gracefully, as we always did, I felt him move only slightly differently, but just enough to change both our velocity and our direction, and before I knew what had happened to me, we had bounced off the bed, hit a chair, and crashed into a table, with arms and legs everywhere, a foot suddenly near my ear, and as we fell like a meteorite falling to earth, I heard a crash and saw his head at an appalling angle. I wondered, as we lay there, gasping for air, if I was finally going to see him with his head off.

I tried to sit up, but he was lying on top of me, and I couldn't. ‘Oh shit, what happened?” I could hardly get the words out, and wondered if all my ribs were broken. “Are you okay?” It was a useless question. The chair was on top of us as well, and he looked as though he were eating my nightgown. The sound of whatever it was he was saying to me was muffled. I pulled the nightgown off his face, and realized he was going to get a black eye from the chair leg. “What did you say?”

“I said, are you okay?”

“I'm not sure yet.” He grinned sheepishly at me, and propped himself up, wincing, on one elbow. “I think I moved wrong.”

“Maybe I did.” It wasn't like him to miss it. “Would ice help?” I actually felt sorry for him, as much as his wires, I suspect he had bruised his ego. He was definitely not as agile as he had been. Maybe it was the vodka. He was used to bourbon.

I went to get him some ice, and a snifter of brandy. I knew that sometimes he liked that. And there was no Yquem left. He took a sip of the brandy, and I put the ice gingerly on his neck and shoulder. It made him seem almost human.

“Steph …” He was looking at me strangely as I ministered to him, and I propped him up on pillows. He looked so sweet and vulnerable, and I suddenly panicked, wondering what Peter would say if I broke him.

“It's a hell of a note to end on, isn't it?” Maybe it was a sign that it was truly over between us.

“We'll have to try again sometime,” he said, looking at me, a little glazed from the brandy.

“I don't think so,” I said sadly.

“Why not?” He was so damn persistent, it must have been something in his computer.

“You know why.”

“Because of him.” I nodded, there was no need to say it all again. I had already said it. Before he tried to kill me with his failed quadruple. “He's not worth it.”

“I think he is.” That I was sure of.

“He doesn't deserve you.” He looked wistful as he said it.

“Neither do you.” I smiled at him. “You need a nice Klone like you, with a strong back, and a better computer.”

“Did I hurt you, Steph?”

“I'm okay.” It was going to be an odd life now without him, and I already felt nostalgic thinking about it. In spite of myself, I knew I would miss him. Who else would wear red spandex and lime green satin, not to mention the leopard G-string? There would never again be anyone else like him. Not even Peter. But even as I lay beside the naked splendor of his Klone, all I could think about was Peter.

“Why do you love him?”

“I just do. It feels right.”

“Does it?” He was watching me, as he handed me the brandy snifter, and I sipped it. It seared my throat as I took a tiny swallow. “It feels right to me too,” he said then in a whisper.

“Don't start that again,” I warned him, as I noticed that his eye was bruising. He was going to have a terrific shiner to show for the quadruple.

“Steph …” he said again. “I have a confession to make.”

“What now?” By then, nothing would have surprised me.

“I never called him.”

“Who? Peter? Were you supposed to?” He hadn't called me either. He was probably in the arms of Helena's twin in San Francisco.

“No, Paul.”

“Paul who?” I was tired, and his confession didn't sound too intriguing. The brandy must have been getting to him.

“He's still in the shop, with his head off.”

“Who is?” And then slowly, as I looked at him, the full force of what he was saying began to hit me. But it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. He would never do this. “What are you saying to me?”

“You know what I'm saying…. I'm not him … I'm me….” He looked like a little boy as he said it.

“Peter?” I said hoarsely, as though seeing him for the first time, and then I understood the crash in the midst of the quadruple flip. It wasn't Paul lying in bed with me at all. It was Peter. And I was stunned as I knew it. “Peter! You didn't … you couldn't … why would you?” I pulled away to look at him, but there was no way to tell them apart now, except for the bruises.

“I thought you were in love with Paul when I came back this time. I wanted to know for sure. I missed you so much when I was in California … it was all I could think of, and then I came back and you looked so sad. I thought you were in love with him, and didn't want to see me.”

“I thought you didn't love me.” I was still appalled by what he had just done, and nearly angry, but he was so banged up, it was hard to be as angry as I should have. “You seemed so cold … so distant….”

“I do love you. I just thought it was Paul you wanted to be with. I thought he was what you wanted.”

“So did I, once or twice,” I grinned at him sheepishly, “but I finally figured it out. He's not real to me … you are. You're much more wonderful than he is.” In spite of myself, I leaned over and kissed him, and he winced when I touched him, but he kissed me, and when he did, I knew the answer to all my questions.

“I can't do the quadruple,” Peter said regretfully, “or drink the way he does. I don't know how they programmed him. I'm going to have a hell of a hang-over tomorrow.”

“You deserve it,” I said, snuggling next to him, and pulling the covers up around us. He was shivering a little. It had been quite an evening.

“There are a lot of things I can't do like him,” Peter said, with an arm around me.

“Most things you do a lot better. I'm too old for all the acrobatics.”

“I'm too old to lose you, Steph. I love you. I don't want to lose this.” It was everything I had wanted Roger to say a thousand years before, and he hadn't. Peter was the one I had waited a lifetime for. Even if he was a little crazy.

“Where is Paul now?” I asked, curious suddenly. It was hard to believe he hadn't been with me all night … the clothes … the things he had said … the iguana … Peter had been terrifyingly convincing.

“He's in the shop, and he's going to stay there. With his head off. After Christmas, you're coming to California with me. From now on, when I travel, we'll get a sitter for the kids and you'll come with me.” He pulled me just a little closer, as I snuggled beside him, unable to believe what I was hearing. This was the dream. Everything that had come before it had been the nightmare.

“Why didn't we think of that from the beginning?”

“I thought you'd have more fun with him, and you wouldn't want to leave the kids, so I activated him for you. I thought you'd like him.”

“I did. But it just got too crazy. I'd rather get a sitter, and go with you.”

“The kids won't mind too much if you leave them?”

“They're old enough to manage without me from time to time.” And then I thought of something that worried me considerably, as I looked up at Peter. “What about the iguana?”

“Consider it a last gift from Paul.”

“Do I have to?” This was not the best news of the evening, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings, or break Sam's heart. I just didn't want to have to see the beast at breakfast, staring into my cornflakes. Maybe we could make a cage for him, or rent him his own apartment.

“You'll grow to love him,” Peter promised, blowing out the candle, and pulling me closer again as we cuddled under the covers.

“The last time you said that, you turned my life into a shambles. Or Paul did.” Just looking back at his exploits now seemed beyond belief as Peter held me.

“I plan to do that myself from now on … turn your life into a shambles. Maybe I should keep the gold lame disco pants as a souvenir,” he said softly, drifting off to sleep as I looked at him, wondering how all this had happened. I knew I would never completely understand it. I couldn't help wondering if it was all a figment of my imagination. It was hard to believe it had happened. “I love you, Steph…. I'm here now,” he whispered, and indeed he was, as he fell asleep in my arms, and I drifted off beside him. He was there, as I was. And I was his now. It all seemed so simple in the end. I thought of Paul for a millisecond as I fell asleep, and I knew that, in spite of everything, I wouldn't miss him. It was over. We didn't need him anymore. We had each other. Forever. The two of us from now on, and no more Klone. Just Peter and I.

a cognizant original v5 release october 06 2010

Published by

Dell Publishing

a division of

Random House, Inc.

1540 Broadway

New York, New York 10036

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1998 by Danielle Steel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.

The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56694-2

v3.0

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten